And Miles To Go
by AliCat713
Summary: Brass makes it  further.  A sequel to wobbear's Making It which is a sequel to Cincoflex's H5N1.  This is Brasscentric, but features GSR.


**Author's Note**: This story was conceived within minutes of reading** wobbear**'s delightful _Making It_, which itself is a sequel to** cincoflex**'s superb _H5N1_, and is based on that alternate universe. If you haven't read either of these stories, the following story will make little sense to you (and whether or not you choose to read mine, you _absolutely must_ read theirs).

The characters herein do not belong to me and are the property of CBS, with the exception of the OFCs, which belong to** cincoflex**.  
  
Many thanks to both very generous writers for allowing me to expand upon their stories; it's been a pleasure both reading your stories and writing to (hopefully) compliment them. Please note that this story lacks betaing; all mistakes within are mine and not to be blamed on anyone else. :-) Thank you for reading all of that, and I hope you enjoy the story.

* * *

"_You'll like her,"_ Sara had said; and it turns out that he does. 

He's been with Grissom and Sara and Honey now for about three weeks. Their dog didn't want to let him in, at first; he'd gone feral, mostly, as all the animals he'd seen abandoned over the last few months had. He'd given the dog three of the slim jims that he'd kept in his pocket for emergencies and was grudgingly let on the porch.

He remembers the last time he'd checked on his elderly neighbor; he'd found her choked and dead from her own mucus, her fluffy mixed breed cat on alert near her head. The cat had hissed and spit at him, something she'd never done before, warning him away from her person.

He had left the door open on his way out. It was better that way.

* * *

By the time he'd found his Mountain Couple, his legs were damned tired from walking. He'd scoured the foothills, taking a few weeks to check the cabins around the lake, remembering that Atwater had a place somewhere among those empty husks; remembering too the way he'd gone on about it to Grissom once in the police station, the way his eyes had lit up. _A_ _man's vacation spot_, he'd called it; _enough room to move and breathe away from your worries._

He was right in thinking Grissom would remember it too.

He's gotten tired of wandering around, looking for people; but he's not settled here, either. Grissom has a home here, with Sara and Honey, and while he knows he's welcome, he also knows without having to be told that he doesn't quite fit. They have a life here, an island of hope, made up of the three of them and their goats and dog and pantry full of pickled beets and smoked fish; and if it's a hard life, it's also a good one.

He wonders what it would be like to have one of those of his own.

He thinks of Ellie sometimes, and wonders if she would still be there if he could make it out to L.A. He wonders if she was healthy enough to make it, if she was smart enough to get out. The sadness in him tells him she didn't; but he can't help but wonder.

And hope.

* * *

The twenty-third day of his stay with Grissom and Sara dawns earlier than usual; Honey's crying, probably colic from the sound of it, and he doesn't envy Sara the screaming she's in for this morning.

He's taken to sleeping in the Book Room, as they call it; it's insulated both from the cold nights and Honey's crying (and Grissom and Sara's lovemaking), and he doesn't need much space. He has a zip-up sleeping bag that's good for below-freezing temperatures and it serves his needs just fine.

He's never been much for complications, he thinks, as he mucks out the goat's pen for Sara. The simplicity of this new world suits him. He's not needed for law enforcement, not anymore; but he's an extra pair of hands to do work, or to hold a gun if worse comes to worst.

He hopes it never does.

* * *

He and Grissom hike out to the ranger's station that morning after Sara gets Honey settled. She gives him a hug as they leave, and a hug with a hungry kiss for Grissom. He, in turn, gives her a gun. With a nod of understanding, they're off.

It's a quiet trek, with Grissom making occasional comments about Will, the ranger's son. By the time they stumble into Melissa's valley, he's found out two things from Grissom about the boy (he's got a dog, he likes fishing) and one thing about Grissom that he feels certain the man didn't mean to let slip: he'd like a boy of his own one day.

He was a cop, after all. Reading between the lines is what he's good at. It would've been hard to miss the quiet melancholy that spoke of Grissom's yearning, and he keeps it to himself.

Although he has no preconceptions about Melissa – how could he? - he still finds himself surprised by her when they meet. He thinks of his friend Annie when he sees her from afar; she has long hair, graying brunette, he thinks, and a small form. She holds herself with the same determination Annie had, with a straight back and a warm smile.

She has thin hands and a firm handshake, and her eyes crinkle at the corners when she smiles at him.

He thinks his life has just become more complicated.

* * *

It turns out he and Melissa have a lot in common.

It's late by the new world's standards; the sun is setting, and after making Will's cautious acquaintance and feeding the geese, they sit down for a dinner of smoked trout and goat cheese that Sara has packed for them. Melissa provides stale crackers, and lemonade from a canister of dried crystals she's saved for company. It's bitter and warm and evokes memories of picnics in parks from before.

He doesn't say this, but then the look on Melissa's face says he doesn't need to.

They eat quietly, instinctively pausing for just a moment before they start. He's not a praying man, and he's not sure who he'd pray to at this point, after so much death and pain, but he says thanks in his mind anyway. Because he is thankful; and even if maybe he's not sure if God is good anymore, the food and the company is.

After dinner, Will takes the dishes and jars out into the yard with Grissom to run them under the spigot on the rain barrel. Melissa tells him a little of her life, both before and after, while he cleans her guns. It's a habit of his that is useful in both worlds, he thinks; it's both familiar and calming, and he allows her words and the familiar motion of his hands to lull him a little.

He feels content.

With another warm smile, she gives them homemade mattresses of deer hide and old quilt stuffing to sleep on that night. He foregoes his comfortable sleeping bag in deference to such a generous and hard-won offering. The mat is too small for him, but with his sleeping bag as a blanket, it makes a good full-body pillow.

It smells like outdoors and wood smoke and comfort.

* * *

It's up early the next morning for everyone; there are chores to do and a lot of walking ahead of him and Grissom. Grissom is eager to get back to Sara, he can tell; there are no cell phones in this world, no easy contact in an emergency, and they all know it.

He shakes Will's hand goodbye and tells Melissa it was a pleasure to meet her.

He's telling the truth.

She surprises him with a hug in place of a handshake; and if they both hang on just a little too long, well, it's a lonely world now and every friend is precious.

* * *

Sara is out in the garden when they get back, Honey held up to her shoulder as she pulls weeds. The goats start bleating and the geese honk as they walk up over the ridge, announcing their arrival. He notices the shirts hanging on a line down by the water; she's washed some of his, too.

When she lifts up and turns quickly, with gun in hand and baby on hip, he's not sure who he's seeing anymore. They've all changed, so much.

She and Grissom share a look, one he's seen from them before, usually on bath days. She's got a fire in her eye that raises his blood pressure, so God only knows what it must do to Grissom. He nods at her, eyes twinkling, and takes Honey inside, leaving Sara and Grissom to their privacy.

Looks like bath day will come early.

* * *

He's taken to walking the perimeter of what he thinks of as _Grissom's Land_ whenever he feels the urge to be by himself. He's taken up carving to pass the time at night, just odds and ends, and travels a little farther afield to find different types of wood every time he's out.

If he notices that his spiral is taking him closer and closer to Melissa's valley, it's only subconsciously, and it's not unpleasant.

When he finds himself visiting her home every three or four days, he's not as surprised as he would have been a year ago. He spends time with Will in his room sometimes, the partitioned space to the right of the fireplace, while Will shares with him the treasures he's kept from before: Legos, a few library books, and a picture of his father.

He spends time with Melissa in the yard, tending the geese or the goats or setting traps on the perimeter for small game. He learns to tan deer hide on his second visit, using a dull knife for scraping, oil and brains to rub in for smoothness, and is so achy that he ends up spending the night there. He takes up his place near the fireplace with the same deer hide mat from his previous visit.

* * *

When he stays the night for the third time, he shares Melissa's bed, unfolding his sleeping bag to lay over them both.

As before, it's outdoors and wood smoke and comfort, and they both cry at the sweetness of it.

"Come back to me soon," she says, hand to his chest; and he does.

* * *

He's been unaware that Grissom and Sara have played matchmaker with them until he returns from Melissa's a few days later. He'd gone on a whim as usual, staying overnight and leaving the next day with a promise to return soon and take Will out on the water before the first snow. The boy had warmed up to him enough to welcome the idea of spending more time with him; they were both looking forward to it.

He's warmed up to the boy, too.

When he comes up over the rise and spots her, Sara has a sharp look in her squinted eyes, her lips pursed; he's seen that look before, in their old lives, when she'd have a piece of evidence or the right clue to pin down a murder suspect.

She's caught him out; and she's pleased about it.

_Meddlesome woman_, he says, fondly.

* * *

November has limped into December by the time they make one last trip to the Wal-Mart they use for supplies. Winter has come, fast, and they need to stock up one last time. Each of them has a list: Sara needs bigger clothes for Honey, Grissom needs a new coat and more twine, Melissa and Will hope to stock up on shoes, and Brass… his list would surprise them all if they saw it.

By unspoken agreement, Grissom locks Bruno in the cabin. There's not enough room in the truck for all of them, so he takes Sara and Honey with him, while Melissa and Will ride with Brass in hers. They've taken precautions, and keep them within easy reach.

The roads have been deserted for months; but everyone is a looter now, and they can't be too careful.

He and Melissa share easy conversation, trying to lighten the mood for Will, who is gazing out the side windows reading the passing signs that once marked civilization. He can't tell if the boy is lonely, or sad, or just motion sick from months where his only movement has been from his own two feet.

He promises himself, silently, to somehow cheer to boy up, and uses a blue Rubbermaid container to clean out the Lego aisle in the toy section of the Wal-Mart while the others are stocking up on canned goods.

_Merry Christmas, kid_, he thinks.

* * *

They pack everything they can into Grissom's flatbed, his things included; the spillover goes into Melissa's less-spacious one. He's got a new set of knives for carving, two fishing poles with tackle, the blue Rubbermaid container full of building blocks, some new jeans and heavy shirts, and two red sleds - one adult sized, one child sized.

There's something else he's picked up from the jewelry counter; it's for Melissa, and he questions whether he's rushing into things as he slips it into his pocket.

It makes him nervous, and he's quiet on the drive home, scratching absently at his beard.

* * *

Winter sneaks up on them all, and he finds his back and hands aching in a way that they never have before. He's left another birthday behind him and he's feeling his years. Pretty soon, he won't be able to make the walk down to Melissa and Will's because of the weather; so far the snow has been light, just a dusting, but he knows more is on the way.

He's saddened by this, but also somehow relieved.

* * *

Grissom surprises him one day not long after with a question: "Will you be spending the winter with us?"

He's thought about it, chewed it over almost every day since he realized he probably has arthritis; Grissom's not the only one reading over the medical books now. He wishes he'd picked up ibuprophen on their supply run.

"Yeah, Gil, I think I will." It's hard for him to be asked; if it was really his home, there would be no question. He's been reminded again that he doesn't belong here, that he's adrift, a wanderer.

"Stay as long as you need," Sara adds, some sadness there that he can't account for.

He nods, stuffing is hands deep in his pant pockets. He doesn't want to rub the ache there in front of the concerned couple.

* * *

Sara finds him, later, on the porch, looking out over the thickening carpet of leaves towards the last offerings of her garden, dusted with frost. She stands with him, silently soaking in the cold air, waiting.

He breaks first, saying, "I'm too old to start over." He surprises them both with his honesty and the underlying feeling there.

She's quiet for a long moment. But in the end, she's had more time than he has to think about this, so her answer is quicker - and more - than he'd expected.

"We were all too old to start over, Jim. But those of us who are left… we did it."

She rubs her slim hand across his back and returns to her waiting family inside.

As the door shuts, the truth of it hits him.

* * *

After the first heavy snowfall, in the third week of December, he laces up heavy weather-proof boots and pulls out the largest sled, the thin one, and begins loading it up. On it go the waterproof boxes holding his clothes, Will's Legos, the new sandpaper and oil for Melissa's tanning, and the fishing gear. His rifle goes over his shoulder, and ammo boxes go into his coat.

He's ready to go.

* * *

The goodbyes are short.

Sara hugs him tightly, reminding him to come back when he can, and Grissom promises to fire off three shots, rapidly, if there's trouble. They both know that help is at least a day away for each of them, but sound carries in the hills, and it's better than nothing.

He kisses Honey's forehead and rubs a knuckle against her gums, savoring the feeling of the small tooth about to break through the skin there. This elicits a large, gummy grin from her, and he can't help but cry.

They're his family, he realizes; and as much as it pains him to leave them behind, he knows that he can move on now, that there's more out there for him. He's done it before, and this time the tears are sweet.

* * *

Setting the straps to the sled over his shoulders, breath already huffing out in wisps of white, he gives one last wave to the cabin behind him and the occupants inside. Head down and feet spread, one hand over the pocket holding Melissa's Christmas present, he heads for the valley.

_I'm coming, Melissa_, he promises.

* * *

A/N #2: If you enjoyed this, there is a possible sequel in the works by another author. Keep your eyes out. 

A/N#3: Yes, the dog is Bruno in this world. Please do not leave me a comment saying that I've gotten his name wrong; blame the closed captioning folks for the mix-ups we fanfic writers have to deal with. I saw it with my own four eyes.


End file.
